


In Sickness and in Health

by LibrarySocks



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: College, Fluff, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, No Beta, Post-Canon, may add more tags later, unedited
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-04
Updated: 2019-11-04
Packaged: 2021-01-23 03:48:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21313684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LibrarySocks/pseuds/LibrarySocks
Summary: Stiles is on Derek babysitting duty when he catches a cold
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 7
Kudos: 313





	In Sickness and in Health

Stiles is confused when he receives a text from Erica asking him to come to the loft, and to bring chicken soup, but he does it anyway. You show up for pack, and also there’s a paper for American History he’s been putting off, so there’s that. 

Erica answers the door looking harried, as she practically shoves Stiles inside. 

“He’s on the couch, Deaton says it’s just a virus, Isaac and I will be back later, bye!” 

Before Stiles can even begin to ask the myriad of questions on the tip of his tongue Erica is pulling an apologetic Isaac out the door and slamming it behind them. 

“Alright then,” he says to the space where she was standing, heading into the kitchen. 

“Ericaaaaaaaa,” comes a wail from the living room, and Stiles freezes. “I’m thirsty, can you make tea? My throat hurts.” 

Stiles snickers, then starts rummaging through the cabinets. Sure enough, there’s a tea kettle and tea bags hidden away. He sets the water to boil and dumps the chicken soup into a bowl before tossing it in the microwave. 

While everything heats he begins exploring the kitchen in a way he’d never dare if any of the apartments occupants were present. He’s pleased to find honey for the tea, and silverware for more than one person. He’d kind of just assumed they all shared one set of dishes between them, to be honest. 

Stiles carefully balances everything on a large platter that’s just going to have to do as a tray for now, and walks everything into the living room. Derek is under a pile of blankets, surrounded by used kleenex, his eyes closed and cheeks flushed. 

“Looks like a party,” Stiles snarks, and flinches when Derek jumps. “Whoa there big guy, didn’t you hear me coming?” 

“Everything is all stuffed up,” he sniffs, “I can’t hear or smell or anything.” 

Oh my god, Derek is the biggest baby when he’s sick. Stiles files this information away for later. 

“You’ve gotta sit up now, I’ve got tea and soup.”

Derek doesn’t move, just closing his eyes and burrowing further into the blankets. 

“Nope, up, come on.” Luckily for both of them, Stiles is used to dealing with an unenthusiastic patient. Namely, his dad, who refuses to take a sick day until he’s too ill to stand. 

Stiles pulls the blankets down a bit, and Derek growls at him. Rolling his eyes, he sits on the edge of the couch, and puts extra pillows behind his head, propping him up. 

“Let's start with the tea, I put in honey and that should help your throat.” 

Derek gives Stiles the grumpy eyebrows and Stiles melts a bit at how soft he looks. His oversized sweater is falling a bit off his shoulder, and Stiles resists the urge to fix it. He prods Derek a bit every few minutes when it seems he’s stalled out on the sipping, until the tea is gone. 

“Did Deaton say you could take anything?”

“No,” Derek says, a small pout on his mouth, “he said that I just had to rest and drink fluids and it would go away on its own.” 

“Then that’s what we’ll do! Are we taking shifts or something, is that why Erica called me?”

“Erica said I’m high maintenance,” Derek says, burrowing back down into his blankets. 

“Ah.” 

They sit in silence like that for several minutes, before Stiles takes the uneaten soup and empty mug back into the kitchen. He could work on his paper while Derek sleeps, but that seems like it would be the wrong thing to do, he reasons. Very wrong, to leave the sick werewolf to fend for himself. School work appropriately reasoned away, he heads back into the living room to scroll on his phone. 

Derek looks up at him, eyes blurry, when he comes back, before sneezing. Stiles does not smile because it reminds him of a puppy sneezing. That would be mean and you’ll never get him to admit to it. 

“Unnng,” Derek mumbles, rolling, trying to get comfortable. 

“Why don’t you sleep in your bedroom,” Stiles asks, flipping through Scott’s instagram, which is currently an ode to missing Kira from college. 

“Don’t wanna be alone,” Derek whimpers, pulling the blankets higher. 

Stiles is very glad that Derek can’t hear his heartbeat right now, because this is the cutest shit he has ever experienced and there is no way his rhythm isn’t saying exactly that. 

“Well, I have my laptop in the jeep, how about we watch a movie in bed? Or, I’ll watch and you nap?”

Derek nods, but doesn’t move to get up. Stiles rolls his eyes, and heads out to the lot to get his stuff. He shoots Erica an angry faced emoji, and she sends back a devil face and Stiles wonders at the life choices that have led him here. 

Derek has to be herded up the stairs to his bedroom, where he belly flops down on top of the covers and Stiles has to shove him until he grumbles his way under them. 

“Not how I ever imagined I’d end up in your bed,” Stiles jokes, propping up pillows so he can lay down sitting up. 

“Me either,” Derek sniffles, closing his eyes. 

“Wait, what?” 

“Mmm.”

Holy shit. Stiles had been mostly kidding, well, mostly hoping that Derek thought he was kidding, even though he was pretty sure that his crush was visible from space, but had Derek just admitted to having imagined Stiles in his bed? 

It would be very bad and wrong to take advantage of Derek in his weakened state. Very bad, and very wrong. So Stiles does the ethical thing, and fires up his laptop and looks for an Avengers movie on Netflix, and most definitely does not watch Derek sleep, his mouth slightly open and his hair looking fluffy and soft. 

About around the time Cap is affirming that he is indeed in possession of America’s ass, Derek rolls over and snuggles into Stiles lap. Stiles stays very still. Derek’s head is resting on his thigh, and he’s curled himself into the fetal position, hands resting under his chin. 

Stiles has a moral dilemma on his hands. Does he, A. continue watching the movie and pretend like Derek isn’t currently using him like a pillow, B. Stand up slowly, so that Derek doesn’t wake up cuddling his leg, C. Take a photo for possible blackmail purposes and posterity, or D. Run his fingers through Derek’s hair in what might be the only chance he gets without losing his fingers. 

He knows the right answer, of course. He took Intro to Ethics and Morality last year as a freshman, he is not unaware of the correct thing to do, it’s just… had he mentioned how soft Derek looks? 

A compromise, he decides. No photos, but… just a quick pat on the head, he is a werewolf after all, probably head pats are good for healing, and then he’ll get up and make more tea or something. 

Stiles runs his fingers through Derek’s hair, and it’s just as soft as it looks. Stiles’ heart skips a beat as Derek nuzzles into his hand, requesting more head pats in his sleep. Oh this is bad. This is wrong. Stiles carefully places the laptop on the bedside table and starts to ease off the bed, slowly. 

In his sleep, Derek grabs at his thigh, holding him in place. Okay, he can do this, he can handle this, he’s a problem solver, he’s smart. 

“Hey Derek? I gotta get up real quick, okay? You just lay here and get some rest.” 

“No,” Derek says, holding him firmly in place. 

Great, so sickness doesn’t eliminate werewolf strength, good to know. 

“Just for a minute, I promise to come right back, okay?” 

Derek huffs through his nose, before reluctantly freeing Stiles. 

“Good boy,” Stiles snarks, and earns another growl from the alpha.

Stiles hurries downstairs, and reheats the soup, needing something to do with his hands. This is okay, he’s okay. Scott gets super cuddly when he’s sick, too, it’s not like it’s the first time he’s been assaulted by a feverish friend. Stiles continues talking himself down as the soup heats, then stays downstairs for a few extra minutes, letting the soup cool, he reasons. 

Derek is just as annoying to wake up as before, but soon he’s sipping soup while trying to stay awake. 

“You feeling any better?”

“Nnng.”

“K.” 

Stiles puts the soup next to his laptop before helping Derek get comfortable in bed again. 

“You need me to stay up here?”

Derek just grabs Stiles, using him as a giant teddy bear, in response. Stiles flails, he can’t help it, it’s what he does in panic moments, but Derek doesn’t ease up on his grip at all. He’s burning up, Stiles realizes, trying to squirm away. 

“Stay,” Derek grumbles, pulling him against his chest.

“Not a dog.”

“Stay,” this time it’s more of a whine.

Stiles was not prepared for the practical on his ethics class today. This is ridiculous. But Derek is so warm and soft, and he’s the one holding Stiles not the other way around, and he’s obviously very sick and needs comforting… having twisted himself into a pretzel to justify it properly, Stiles relaxes in Derek’s grip and lets himself drift off, too. 

⍟

Stiles wakes up to Derek whimpering in his sleep, and he shakes the older mans shoulders until he opens his eyes.

“Are you really here?” He whispers, panic in his voice. 

“I’m really here.”

“How many fingers?” 

Derek’s eyes are wide, and he’s gripping Stiles around the waist. Stiles pries one of his hands off of him and holds it up, touching each finger as he counts it. Derek’s breathing slows, laying back down and closing his eyes. Stiles brushes his fingers through his hair, pushing it off his forehead. Derek gives a noise of affirmation, and Stiles smiles, continuing to pet him until his breathing is even. 

“Knew I was your favorite,” Stiles whispers, crowing. 

“Mmm,” Derek agrees, not opening his eyes. 

Stiles hides his face in his hands, before scooting over on the bed to grab his phone. 

Like before, Derek pulls him back into a bear hug, and Stiles flails. 

“Not your chew toy,” Stiles protests, as Derek fits his back against his chest. 

Derek noses behind Stiles’ ear, before giving a little nip to his earlobe, and Stiles forgets to breathe for a minute. 

“None of that until your better!” Stiles objects, drawing a firm line in the sand. 

A deep chuckle reverberates against his back, and Derek’s breath ghosts across his neck. 

“Really?”

“Hands to yourself!” Stiles tries, attempting to squirm away. 

“Mm mm, you said you’d be my chew toy when I’m better.”

“You have a fever, you’re delusional.” 

It’s not that Stiles is opposed to being Derek’s chew toy, or any other kind of toy for that matter, it’s just that before today he’s never shown any interest in Stiles at all, except to shove him against things and glare at him moodily. The last thing he needs is to let a feverish Derek lay the moves on him, only to regret it the next day. Not good for the pack and not remotely good for his mental health. 

“I just run hot.”

Stiles swallows all the innuendos bubbling up, begging to come out, and tries to shove away from Derek again. 

“Stay,” he whines again, burying his face in Stiles’ back. 

“This isn’t fair, you’re going to get better and be mad at me that you got all cuddly when you were sick.”

“S’not true,” Derek murmurs, already falling back asleep. “Always wanna cuddle you.”

“You can’t say shit like that!” 

Stiles twists around in time to see Derek smirking, before he lays his head down on Stiles’ chest. 

“You’re the one who always comes to pack meetings smelling like… like other people.”

“I do not! Or! I’m in college! I smell like other people a normal amount of the time! Are you scent shaming me right now?” 

Derek growls, and honestly, Stiles thinks he might be developing a kink, and that is definitely not okay. Having a growling kink is bordering on a beastiality or furry kink. No thank you. 

“You wake me up when your fever breaks, and if you still don’t want me to smell like other people, you tell me, and I promise not to, okay?” 

Derek grumbles his assent, and god, this is not fair, not fair at all. Stiles keeps his hands to himself as Derek nuzzles into him, getting comfortable, leaving Stiles with a view of the top of his head. He’s going to wake up from this fever and either not remember why Stiles is in his bed and maul him, or he’s going to remember but want to take it back, and Stiles will be humiliated and… Stiles stops himself from spiralling. Derek is sick. He’s not responsible for any of the nonsense he’s spouting, but Stiles **is** responsible for how he responds. He just needs to help Derek get better, and then maybe turn the whole cuddling thing into a joke he can use blackmail him or something. It’s fine. 

⍟

It’s not fine. Stiles wakes up hours later to Erica giggling in the doorway, Isaac looking over her shoulder. Stiles sends a death glare their way, trying to extricate himself from Derek’s hold. Derek mumbles in his sleep, pulling Stiles tighter, and Stiles squeaks. 

Erica is in hysterics, and Isaac looks mildly amused, and Stiles hates both of them right now. He grabs a pillow and tosses it at them, and Isaac catches it before it hits Erica, who’s still too busy laughing to react in time. She pulls her cellphone out, and Stiles gives her a “don’t you fucking dare” look, before he hears the camera shutter. 

He’s going to kill her, they’ll never find the body. First he needs to get her cell phone, though, and to do that, he needs to get up. Erica seems to be able to read his intent to come after her, because she runs down the hall towards the stairs. Isaac shrugs, before ambling after her. 

Stiles decides that slow and steady is not how he’s going to win this race, instead he needs to treat it like ripping off a bandaid. He takes a few calming breaths, and then rolls himself away from Derek as fast as he can. 

Derek looks up blearily at the loss of his human pillow, and pouts up at him. 

“Come back,” he whines plaintively

“I’ll be right back, okay, go back to sleep, I uh, I gotta pee,” he improvises. 

“K. Hurry,” Derek mumbles, snuffling against the pillow Stiles had just been using. 

From downstairs he can hear Erica cackling, and he groans. His phone vibrates on the bed where it had fallen out of his hand earlier, and he finds a group message with the picture of Derk and him sleeping. 

He stumbles out of the room as the responses start flying in. 

Scott: Dude. Ew. Why did you send this to me?

Lydia: FINALLY! 

_Boyd has left the group_

Kira: Ohmygosh they are soooo cute! Eek! 

Scott: Kira! I thought you were in class, you weren’t answering my texts! 

Stiles groans, leaving the group himself. He does not need to bear witness to the clingy octopus that is Scott McCall. 

“What the fuck, Erica,” he says, as he hits the bottom of the stairs. 

“What?” She says innocently, “I just thought you two finally getting your shit together and hooking up needed to be recorded for posterity. I mean, it’s been years, Stiles. This belongs in a museum.” 

“We did not hook up!” 

“Oh. My bad. Why not?”

“He’s sick! And it’s not like that! I got over my Derek infatuation years ago, you’re a werewolf, shouldn’t you be able to like, smell that or whatever?”

“I can, and you didn’t. You’re so into him you reek, I’d say it was pathetic if he wasn’t worse, mooning over you and getting all growly and eyebrow-y whenever you smell like some new dude-bro. Congrats, by the way, on all the ass you’ve been getting.”

“I get a normal amount of ass! Why does everyone think I’m a slut!” 

Isaac snorts from where he’s sitting at the counter eating, but doesn’t join the conversation. 

“And Derek only gets growly about it because I’m pack and I smell like not pack, or whatever. It’s territorial. It’s not like that. He doesn’t moon over me. He’s never said or done anything to back up your baseless claims, devil woman.” 

“I mean, he doesn’t have a stellar track record when it comes to relationships, I think that he’s waiting for you to make the first move.” 

Erica grabs a spoon from the drawer, taking a bite of Isaac's ice-cream. 

“There is no first move! There are no moves to be made! He doesn’t think of me like that!” 

“Whatever you say, snuggle bunny. Sorry to break up the whole big spoon little spoon thing you had going on.”

Erica gestures with her spoon, flinging a bit of ice cream onto the counter, which Isaac wipes up, still staying out of it. 

“We were not spooning!” 

“Just don’t break his heart, okay,” she says, more serious now. “He’s really a big softy, and if you don’t want to date him that’s fine, but like, don’t lead him on, or keep showing up smelling like other dudes. I’ve got a soap you can use that’ll help, you can use it before pack meetings.” 

“Look,” Stiles leans against the wall, feeling defeated, “his fever is going to break, and he’s going to go back to hating me and barely tolerating me, and everything will be normal.” 

Erica and Isaac share a look, but keep eating their Ben & Jerry’s. 

“Just, stop getting my hopes up, okay. I really am working on…” Stiles makes a vague hand motion, “getting over it or whatever.” 

Erica and Isaac both look at the ceiling at the same time, before exchanging another look. 

“You guys look like cats when you do that, it’s freaky.”

“I think Derek will be feeling much better soon. We should get out of here.”

Isaac takes the spoons and puts them in the sink and the ice cream in the freezer while Erica grabs her shoes and bag. 

“Look, just tell him how you feel, and if he’s too much of a dumbass to know a good thing when he sees it, then I’ll come to your place and we can have an angsty slumber party or whatever. I’ll make Isaac stay here and look after the sourwolf.”

“Hey! That’s my nickname for him! That’s my intellectual property!”

Erica and Isaac do the weird cat thing again, staring at the ceiling in tandem, before heading out, leaving a confused Stiles behind to care for their alpha. 

⍟

Derek is asleep when he comes back upstairs. There’s no other furniture in the room for him to sit on, and he’s loathe to make Derek wake up alone, but he really doesn’t want to climb back into the bed. Derek is very stoic and standoffish normally, it feels weird to invade his space like this just because he’s sick. 

Stiles quietly grabs a few throw pillows and a blanket from the nest Derek had made on the couch, and sets them up on the bedroom floor. He grabs his ear buds and starts the movie back up, though he can’t really focus. 

Was Erica just fucking with him, or did Derek really have a thing for him? If he asked Derek out tomorrow, or the next day, or whatever day he was up and functional again, would he really say yes? Or was she just setting him up to laugh at him? Could he live with the humiliation if he asked, and Derek said no, and he had to keep coming to pack meetings and helping research the newest big bad? 

Could he live with himself if he didn’t ask, and had to wonder the rest of the life if he could’ve made a go of it? Round and round went his ADHD brain, stuck on an endless loop for hours. Stiles was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he realized that he was staring at Derek staring at him several seconds too late, and yelled. Derek cringed, covering his head with the blanket, moaning. 

“Go home, Stiles,” be grumbled from under his blanket cocoon. 

“What? Are you going all sourwolf on me after I took care of your drama queen ass all day? It’s like,” Stiles clicked his laptop back awake to look at the time and cringed, “2 am. You can’t kick me out in the middle of the night! What kind of monster are you?!” 

“Why are you awake if it’s 2 am.” 

“I napped,” Stiles said simply, wondering if Derek remembered their afternoon tangled up under the covers. 

Judging by the ominous silence coming from his direction, Stiles thought that probably he did. Probably it would be safest to head home now, and pretend like today never happened. Probably, Stiles had below average survival instincts, though, so he stayed put. 

“Napped?”

“Uh huh, and you’re super clingy when you’re sick. You’d give Scott a run for his money. Though at least it’s just the tentacle arms and not the stage five clinger texting and calling. Or are you one of those, too?” Stiles knows he’s rambling, but he can’t seem to make himself stop. “Scott once called Kira in the middle of a midterm, like, he was taking the midterm, not she was, and he went to the bathroom just to call her, because he needed luck or something? I don’t fucking know. But the professor totally thought he was cheating, so he had to retake Psych 101. Which maybe he needed, seeing as he had to call his girlfriend in the middle of the midterm. Ya know?” 

“Am I awake right now?”

“God I hope not,” Stiles says, finally stopping the mindless chatter. 

Derek huffs from under the blankets, pulling them off his face finally, looking like a giant werewolf burrito. His cheeks are flushed, Stiles assumes from the amount of heat the dude lets off and being trapped in it under the blanket, and does not consider the alternative at all. Nope. No sir. He also doesn’t consider reaching up and tousling Derek’s hair, which is now sticking up everywhere. Thankfully his legs have fallen asleep under his laptop, so subconscious movement is not an option in the foreseeable future. 

“Sorry. About… that. Kate used to hate how clingy I got when I was sick… Jennifer, too.” 

He looks so sad and lost, Stiles wants to comfort him, but he knows they’ve already crossed too many boundaries for one night. 

“Nah, don’t worry about it, like I said, Scott gets like that, too. Though I don’t think he’s been actually sick sick since the bite. I didn’t even know you guys could get sick, what with the supernatural healing and everything.” 

Derek sniffs, shrugging the whole blanket with his shoulders. 

“Only sometimes, Laura never got sick, but Cora did, we’d trade it back and forth and drive mom nuts.” 

Derek smiles sadly at the memory and Stiles adjusts his image of Derek once more. 

“This is nice,” he says without thinking.

“Hmm?”

“You, us, talking like people.”

“I talk to you like people.”

“No you don’t.” 

Derek sighs, rolling onto his back to stare at the ceiling. 

“We talk all the time at pack meetings, you make excellent strategy insights.”

Ah. That sounds more like his Derek. All business. Well. Here goes nothing. 

“Does it really bother you when I come to pack meets smelling like other people?” 

“Who said that?”

“You did.” Stiles isn’t letting him off the hook now. He needs to get this over with, the rejection will hurt less now, he decides, and he can go back to knowing where he stands. 

“Did I? I guess… in a territorial way or whatever, in that, you guys are all my pack and it’s weird when you don’t smell like pack.”

“You were listening!” 

“No I wasn’t,” Derek says, but the tips of his ears are pink. 

“How do you even know what I’m talking about if you weren’t listening, then.” Stiles is an excellent debater. He can annoy anyone into conceding their point. 

“I don’t.” 

“Alright, then I guess I’ll just use the special soap or whatever and stop worrying about it.”

“Ok.”

“See! How do you know about the special soap if you weren’t listening!” 

“You just told me!” 

“I referenced a soap that you don’t know exists!”

“You’re obviously talking about Erica’s scent blocking soap, Stiles.” 

“Oh.” 

They sit in silence for a moment, the screen from the laptop the only light in the room. Stiles feels like a coward for not being able to push it further, but already it feels like a dismissal, no need to rub salt in the wound. 

“You can sleep on the couch if you want,” Derek says, still not looking at Stiles. 

“What? Oh. Right. You probably want some space. Sorry. Thanks. I’ll just… go… do that.” 

“No, I didn’t mean… I just meant you don’t have to hang out up here if you don’t want to.” 

“I’m pretty sure my legs are asleep.” 

Derek huffs another laugh, and Stiles smiles sadly. He knows he told Erica he was over it and he’s been trying, really he has, but he loves Derek’s stupid not-laugh. He doesn’t want to lose it because he can’t get his hormones under control. Maybe they’re relationship isn’t typical, but he’s fought hard for the respect he’s earned, and it would be stupid to throw it away. 

“Do you need anything? I can make you more tea?” 

“You don’t have to.”

“I know.” 

“Okay.”

“Okay you want tea, or okay I know I don’t have to.”

“Stiles.”

“Right, let me just, ow, ow, ow, pins and needles, pins and needles, let me just get up here and” Stiles hops around on one foot then the other, trying to get the blood flowing in his legs, “I’ll be right back. Don’t run off.” 

Stiles takes refuge in the kitchen again, setting up the tea kettle. He takes out his phone and texts Erica while he waits. 

Stiles: You’re a lying liar who lies, he says he doesnt care that I smell like other dudes

His phone lights up much quicker than he was expecting, considering the late hour. 

Batgirl: Is that how you asked him? Dumbass.

Batgirl: Tell him you wanna smell like him and then text me what he says

Batgirl: Do it

Batgirl: I’ll give you twenty bucks 

Stiles snorts, dropping a tea bag in a mug and pouring the water over it. He checks the clock so he knows how long to let it seep before thinking of how to respond. 

Stiles: He says that isnt his kink

Batgirl: You fucking liar, you didn’t say it

Batgirl: That is TOTALLY his kink

Batgirl: Ask to borrow clothes 

Batgirl: To sleep in

Batgirl: Dont be fucking weird about it, just tell him you wanna borrow a t shirt to sleep in

Batgirl: Your still there, right? I haven’t sexiled myself for nothing? 

Stiles: I’m still here, and we’re not having sex

Batgirl: Just ask for the tshirt and text me back

Batgirl: Do it

Batgirl: Do it 

Batgirl: Dooooo it

Batgirl: *You can do it gif* 

Stiles: Fuck, go to sleep

Stiles puts his phone on silent and puts it back in his pocket, grabbing the mugs to bring back upstairs. Derek is sitting up scrolling through his own phone in bed, the blankets wrapped more normally around himself than when Stiles left. Stiles hands him his mug and sets his own on the bedside table. 

“Is it really cool if I crash here? I can be out of your hair pretty early, I’ve got a 9 am class.”

“It’s not problem.” 

“Thanks.” Stiles chews on his lip for a moment, “not to bug you, but would it be okay if I borrowed a tshirt or something to crash in?” 

Derek sputters into his mug, coughing. 

“Whoa, go down the wrong tube there? Careful, it’s hot?” 

Derek nods, coughing again, putting the mug down, and pulling the covers back. He gets up and starts digging through his drawers, picking up and discarding shirts before handing one to Stiles. 

“Thanks man, I’m gonna go change real quick.”

“Wait,” Derek commands, turning back to the dresser and digging some more. He pulls out a pair of sweatpants and hands them to Stiles, too. “So you don’t have to sleep in your jeans.”

“Aww, that’s so sweet! You don’t want me going commando on your couch.” 

He cackles with Derek’s eyes widen and starts to stutter out a response. 

“Just kidding. Be right back.” 

In the bathroom he pulls out his phone again. 

Stiles: Holy fuck, does he have a clothes kink? Do I need to start like, coming over and needing a sweater? 

Batgirl: lol lol lol lol 

Batgirl: You once left your red hoodie over, and Derek slept with it until the night before the next pack meeting, when he washed it and handed it back

Stiles: He did not

Stiles: You’re making that up

Stiles: I always wondered why he washed it, tho

Batgirl: lol lol lol 

Batgirl: It’s a wolf thing

Batgirl: a smell thing

Batgirl: idk

Batgirl: Sometimes I wear Issac’s sweater to piss off Boyd

Batgirl: tho its nice to smell like pack

Batgirl: its better to smell like Boyd

Batgirl: *smirking face emoji * 

Derek’s shirt is short but loose on him, which is a weird combination. The pants need to be tied as tight as they’ll go to stay up on his slim hips, but he’s not complaining. He sniffs at the shirt, and it smells a bit like Derek… his laundry soap, maybe. 

Stiles saunters back into the room like he’s auditioning for the red carpet, but Derek pointedly avoids looking at him. 

“Aww, do I look bad?” Stiles pouts, playing with the hem of the shirt. “I was going for America’s next top model!” 

Derek is staring at his hands, he’s sure of it. He tugs at the bottom of the shirt then taps his fingers across his thighs, and yep, Derek is staring at his hands. 

“Are you tired?” 

“What?”

“I mean, I can get out of your hair if you want to get some more rest.” 

“You should probably get some sleep, for class. In the morning.” Derek is back to short sentences, but they sound… different. Pained? 

“Do I smell weird?” Stiles asks, innocently, walking towards the bed. “In your clothes, I mean? Should I change back?”

“No!”

Stiles stops, cocking his head in mock confusion. 

“No I don’t smell weird? Or no I shouldn’t change back?”

“Both. You should be comfortable. Sleeping. You should go to sleep.” 

Stiles smiles wickedly, feeling on much firmer ground. He sits on the bed, and picks up his own mug of tea, and takes a sip. 

“Do I smell more like pack this way?” He taps a finger on the side of the mug just to watch Derek’s eyes follow the movement. “Maybe you could keep a separate set here for me, for after I use Erica’s soap?” 

Derek looks down at his hands in his lap, something sad and fleeting crossing his face. Stiles backtracks and feels like an ass. 

“I mean, I don’t have to use the soap… if I just hang out with the pack?” 

Derek doesn’t say anything, not even one of his monosyllabic responses. Maybe seducing werewolves is different from seducing guys in clubs, Stiles muses. 

“I think I’d like to smell like you,” Stiles tries again. 

Derek’s head spins around so fast Stiles is worried he might have given himself whiplash. Stiles blushes, hoping he hasn’t made a horrible error in judgement. 

“If you wanted me to smell like you?” 

“Do you… what do you mean?” 

Derek is clutching at the comforter, his hands opening and closing. Stiles puts the mug back down, and sighs. This is as close to a rejection he’s going to get, without outright confessing. 

“Nevermind, if you’d rather I didn’t smell like you.”

Suddenly Derek is in his space, confusion and hope warring on his face. 

“I don’t think you understand what you’re offering.” 

“Mmm… maybe I do. Is that something you’d want? From me?” 

Am I someone you could want, he doesn’t say, is this something we could have. 

“I… yes… if… if you wanted that… I’d…”

Oh god, he’s the world's most emotionally constipated werewolf. Stiles decides he should probably help him out, so they aren’t sitting here until he has to leave for class, talking in metaphors. 

“So we would be dating, right? This isn’t just some weird werewolf thing where I smell like you, and you fuck other people.” 

“I, what, no, I mean, yes, I mean. Yes. Stiles. I would like to date you.” Derek looks at him like he’s something wonderful and special, like maybe he’s wanted this for almost as long as Stiles has. 

So Stiles decides he’s ready for the full Stilinksi experience. 

“Oh thank god, because I think I caught your cold, and I could really use some chicken soup.”

**Author's Note:**

> Look, I'm a trash human being. I don't know what to tell you. 
> 
> This is part of my effort to post a fic a day, and we're on day 4 and I'm regretting my decision to exist. 
> 
> As such, this fic is not beta'd, barely proofread, and most likely has glaring spelling, grammatical or character issues. I apologize in advance. Viva La Nanowrimo! 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who leaves kudos and comments, they keep me out of the fetal position after I post.


End file.
